“Look at these colors!” a spry old woman ran her fingers across the wools and yarns and embroidery threads in the storage area of the sewing room. She picked through materials with glee like she’d picked through her jewel box before going out on the town.

They were on an outing with their friend. She had shown them an alleyway that led them to a crooked little street and THEN they’d found a lovely shop that sold all sorts of hand crafted things. Better still, they’d gone out to the back and found spinning wheels and looms and every crafting device they knew. It was all arranged in a long light room that looked out a town called Graz.

They took their materials and worked them as effortlessly as you please. From time to time folk would visit and they’d measure them or listen to what they desired and then, why it was magical, just as well as you could think a piece you could also make it. The needle practically flew through the fabric. The loom clacked gently and the weave and weft was there as fast as you please.

And it pleased them greatly.

Sometime in the past Myrtle had been a knitter. Her joints had started aching and there was medicine for that but then her memory began to fade so that she dropped stiches or found she’d sewn two rows purl instead of knit one purl one and she’d unpick and try again. But now she thought of an old pattern as she cast on her first row and it was as though her mind was running a movie she could watch over and over. She relaxed and her muscle memory was making the delicate stiches to form a pair of fingerless gloves.

Basic crafting achieved

“Did you hear that Sue?”

“Hear what?”

“A voice giving me a girl scout badge or something?”

Seamstress apprentice achieved

“Oh yeah I hear it now!”

Mistress of the Loom unlocked

Advanced crafting achieved

“Did you hear something Mrs Z?”

She sews goodwill – basic spell achieved

“I did! I got one too!”

Craftswoman of the ages level 1 group effect

“Whoopie!”

And on went the afternoon as the sun moved gently over the rooftops and a cat sprang after a ball of wool that two crones had bowled playfully along the work room floor. Another cat sprawled in a pile of silks. A huge cat came back into the room. It spread out on the floor where shafts of warm light filtered down on its black coat. There was brick dust and ashes on its fur as if it had been down in the center of town where builders, according to Mrs Z, were busy mending the effects of a loose cannon. At least that was what their friend had told them and she’d steered them to the making room and said they would see the rest of the town another day.

Skeins of memory – attach old memory to strong new threads

Darn and patch – build logic from retrieved data

And all too soon their friend, Mrs Z, said they had to go back to the Centre for All Abilities which, was where they usually did less interesting crafts.

Back down the winding stairs, through the crooked street and into the alleyway. The three crones held hands, giggling and laughing as they jumped back into the Centre to find themselves sitting at the craft room table.

“When can we do that again?” asked the one who had knitted herself gloves. She looked at her hands but the gloves had been left in that other place. She felt her mind replaying the stitching in such vivid detail that she knew, she knew, it was a memory of old from before when knitting a glove was like putting on an old shoe. Comfortable, familiar and quick. Not like things had been lately. No confusion.

She looked at the faces of the others, and she knew it had been like that for them.

“I want to go back,” she said, grabbing the arm of their friend. “Take me back.”

And the woman, wearing a yellow tag, not a doctor or a staff member but one of them, nodded and said “Soon. We’ll go again soon.” And she helped them take off the little contraptions.

The three old women looked at each other, eyes that were once blue and green and brown now faded to greys and they felt more alive than they had in a while.

As she finished looping the wires back into her bag the young people arrived, a little out of breath and looking about the room. Myrtle Brown began rapidly constructing a peggy square at a speed she hadn’t achieved for years.

“What about making a blanket dears?” she said to the rest, and they nodded and talking about complementary colors and all the while watched the newcomers from the corner of their eyes.

Now that the two young people had gotten here it seemed they weren’t sure what they wanted to do.

“Where’s the old man?” the young man asked at least.

Everyone obliged him and dutifully looked about the room. But no ‘old man’ was to be seen. Sue Smith began tacking two peggy squares together and hoped that she was acting naturally because this morning she was fairly sure she’d forgotten this technique yet now, just before dinner time, she was deftly sewing short neat stiches.

“How about we take you home for dinner?” the young woman asked Mrs Z, “I hope you’ve had a good day here with your friends. Have you been here all day?”

“I watched a movie earlier,” Mrs Z said, rising and taking the hand of the boy. ‘I’m tired. See you Sue, see you Myrtle, see you Abagail, I’ll see you again ladies.”

Later Sue Smith’s daughter came to pick her up. She was amazed to see her mother sewing so well and mentioned it to the caregiver on the desk.